Palpitations
by Zen Monk
Summary: When faced with hidden feelings, underlying dread, and facetious comments, sometimes Mitsuru has to admit that stating the obvious isn't such a bad way to explain the things that make her heart beat faster.


Another one-shot to delay more chapters for Sturm and Drang. Shameful, shameful me. But that story's not dead, and it will get my full attention now that this one's over and done with.

Props to Preseathekitsune for beta-ing this! Check out her stories; they're pretty good.

* * *

Palpitations

* * *

She never really liked to state things that are painfully obvious. Things like "That's such a pretty shade of green!" or "You're sick? That's not good man" or "I can't _believe_ that I have so much homework to do over the weekend!"

Such were the conversations and phrases that she heard everyday among her peers. It's not so much that she felt disdain for people who say such utterances, but more so that she doesn't know how to reply. And if there's something worse than stating the obvious, it's being speechless.

Some people have noted that the words she say and how she said them flowed so well that it must come natural to her, like a river to an ocean. Now, as she sat on her favorite couch in her room with her favorite book on her lap, she realized that she made so much effort in trying to say just the right thing that she wondered if she was steadily being trapped by her own expectations upon herself.

She couldn't, for example, know quite what to say when a Shadow had lurched toward her unsuspectingly that she was so taken by surprise to react. Especially when, as she flinched instinctively for the dreaded impact, she couldn't know what to describe the feeling that enclosed her heart like a pair of hands covering a firefly when, out of the blue, the Shadow was flung to its side against the dark, bleeding wall, and in her vision was a young man with grey hair that flashed like quicksilver and a startling red vest that contrasted the dreary environment, his arm outstretched and breathing so hard that his shoulders heaved. And when he looked at her…

It wasn't unusual of him to come to her aid when she actually needed it. It was an unspoken joint effort that was established long after they had met and shortly after Shinji left them. He would give a sheepish grin or a brief annoyed glance whenever she managed to pull victory out of the hat, even though he was the one, he asserted, who did all the work.

"Strategy wins wars, Akihiko, not tactics," she would admonish him. "And charging against the enemy, which you utilize, is a tactic that only works in battles of antiquity."

But he made such an impression on her last night that, for a second, she didn't know who he was until he breathed out a raspy, "Are you okay?"

She opened her mouth but made no sound. She swallowed so as to give her time to speak, but was surprised to find it hard to do so, her throat choked with… fear? Shock? A culmination of identifiable and unknown emotions that whirled together in a thick soup that made her heart beat fast against her thin neck?

She nodded and he was satisfied. He proceeded to turn his attentions to the floundering shadow and assailed it with lightning bolts and pressurized force.

It was the first time when she found that "Thank you" wasn't an adequate enough return for the favor.

* * *

It had been a warm January day today when she went home from school. The student council meeting had went smoothly, courtesy to Chihiro Fushimi's surprising efficiency in presenting relevant manners coherently and delivering her own presentation on her views regarding the school. She had been most especially passionate regarding how personal relationships should be regulated within the school grounds. Mitsuru was so impressed that she hinted that if Fushimi's progress kept going in this direction, she might have a chance in becoming President within a couple of years.

"Oh, n-no Senpai!" she stammered, a furiously pleased blush blossoming on her cheeks. "This isn't much to be made… much of…" she trailed off.

"I always mean what I say, Fushimi. Especially towards those who deserves it."

The underclassman blushed prettily and murmured hushed words of gratitude. She looked towards Arisato's way, who gave a serene nod of approval towards her. Mitsuru always marveled at the great changes innocent love can bring to a person's disposition, as in the case of Chihiro Fushimi. She looked at Arisato to see if any change befell upon his expression, but as usual there was no subtle change beyond the stoic façade he was always capable to exude that would remotely match Fushimi's fervor, or in hindsight, had reflected it in return.

The meeting was adjourned and the members parted ways at the school gate. With mankind's dubious fate facing them on the horizon, Mitsuru felt that her outlook changed. She couldn't make up her mind whether her days spent in school, at the dorm, or in the Dark Hour had slowed almost to a stop or that they accelerated with such alarming speed that before she knew it a week had gone by and another was already halfway spent when she bothered to stop and think for a moment. But the experiences she spent in between were what she was most aware of.

Such as this day. She had never felt something as plangent as the soft glow of the sun shining through thin clouds and dark, bare branches of the trees that lined her school. People like Chihiro Fushimi, one of whom she had never saw as more than people she see every day, seemed more interesting and vibrant. She had found herself delighting in many small things, like steam rising from coffee cups next to a pastry on a plate, and she thought it charming when dust motes reveal themselves in the slanted beams of light from windows in a muted library.

She was just as surprised knowing that she found herself appreciating many things amidst a backdrop of despair.

She walked away from school towards Port Island Station and the differences between the safe haven behind the school gates and the world beyond were startling. The patterned tiles which made walking around the spacious station like strolling through a promenade were littered with gritty posters and sprayed on paint in the image of the cult of Nyx. Out of the corner of her eye, a lone victim of the Lost laid against the soda machine with glassy eyes. And the strangers she walked with every day had tense looks on their faces, some with a mean look about them. Seeing these sad scenes splotched upon the small charms of this place felt like an affront. So much so, she wanted to say the question that was on everyone's minds: What happened to us?

She knew the answer, but she still wanted to say those words in the risk of being obvious.

She sighed at the scene and was about to head towards the parking complex when she glimpsed a familiar silver-haired figure sitting on a bench. She looked at him for a moment and impulsively moved closer towards him. Akihiko didn't seem to notice her yet, but she was close enough to see his expression with more detail. From where she stood, she saw a three-quarter profile of his face, his right arm comfortably resting on the bench's armrest, and his feet planted firmly on the ground. Being that it was an unusually warm day, he had his red vest unbuttoned and his jacket was draped over his school bag resting against him. He still, however, wore his gloves, of whose hands were resting on his lap.

Mitsuru leaned against the wall of a building and studied him. Since after winter break, she's hardly ever seen him at the dorm before her, as there had been times when they would leave the near empty school at around the same time; her, with her meetings at Student Council and her duties pertaining with faculty, and he, with his extended practice in the boxing room.

"It seems to me that I never see you around before dinner anymore, Akihiko," she implied a few days ago. "Where do you go nowadays when we're not in Tartarus?"

He gave a slightly sheepish grin and replied, "Aw, nowhere special. I just started going to the gym more after boxing practice; they have more stuff there than at school, you know. And even though the season's over, I still have to do stuff like help scout for new talent for the coming next year, but I leave a lot of the workload to Hiro. He's really getting around to being a good captain for next year, so I get to have more time after school for more training."

She smiled warmly, impressed. "Hm. You never run out of steam, do you Sanada-kun," she teased.

He smirked at her playful formality. "Just keeping my priorities straight, like you always told me to, Kirijo."

She didn't miss the hard glint in his eyes.

And now, standing before him in the waxing daylight at Port Island station, with the memories of the previous night still fresh in her mind, she beheld a very different look in his eyes.

Staring intently at nothing ahead of him with his head held straight, his gaze seemed unfocused and far away, like dark stones instead of his usual steely storm clouds that she had always seen, and secretly admired, since their acquaintanceship. The slight difference transformed his expression greatly; the shadows on his face could easily be mistaken for haggardness, and the slight furrow on his brow showed all the weariness of the world. His lips were drawn in a tight line, casting almost a mean look about him. His entire countenance lay bare to the world what kind dark weight he held in his heart just by his eyes alone. In Mitsuru's case, it was an alien, yet also familiar look to her.

Despite popular opinion amidst their classmates regarding him, one of which being that he could only be a cool bruiser with brains, she dismissed these notions as foolishness since she was given testimony to the great depth that rumbled beneath his passive exterior. He can be a proud, hotheaded, and infuriating character, and there were some days when she just couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth; but on the other hand, there were moments when she was just amazed at how he can say the right thing to take control of the situation. And while his mind was at times incapable to comprehend complex concepts, particularly in social aspects, his dumbfounded behavior reminded her that there's a kind of pureness to his character; the kind of pureness that wouldn't ever be led astray to any negative emotion for long.

She could never shake the feeling during the previous year that he will be the one that will always be a few steps ahead of her. While her goal was to ultimately lead the Kirijo Group and strive for its success, she had a feeling that his path will rise to greater heights than she would ever have thought of.

But now, enveloped in stony forlornness, it was like seeing a juggernaut stopped for good. Atlas bent by the world. A mule broken by his harness. Her father when looking at a decorated picture of her mother, his back unknowingly towards a young Mitsuru.

It was like watching the sky fall around Atlas' shoulders and she could feel the cracks from the heavy side layer course through her being.

She saw his gaze flick towards her direction, and she was startled at how quickly he could slip into the Akihiko she had always known just by the look of recognition in his eyes. His stony countenance was broken by a smile and his eyes softened as he waved her over. She forced a smile on her face and walked towards him, a strange burning sensation on her cheeks.

"Hey."

"Hey," she rasped, coughing a bit to clear the disuse in her throat. "Fancy seeing you here," she said assertively.

"Yeah, feels like forever since we see each other outside of the dorm," he agreed quietly. "So what's up?"

Mitsuru shrugged. "Just came from a council meeting at school, and I was, well, about to go home."

"Oh, okay," he nodded. He leaned forward and fished out his cell phone from his back pocket to check the time. "The next train's going to come in a few minutes; guess we should head over there sometime soon."

"Yeah." She expected him to get up after that statement, but remained seated and made no move whatsoever. She crossed her arms and shifted her stance, a little uncomfortable.

"How long have you been sitting here?" she asked. He looked away for a moment, thinking.

"I guess about… since about four o'clock? A little later, I guess, because I came here after boxing practice was over."

"The boxing team's still meeting for practice?"

"Yeah," he rolled his shoulders slowly, as though trying to appear at ease to mask what he had been moments before. "But it's only been me and a couple of other guys. The end of the school year tournaments are the next month, and some guys are still taking it easy because we just got out of break."

"I see." She broke eye contact with him, wondering whether her next move was what she really wanted to have happened.

"So you've been sitting here for an hour," she began slowly. He nodded.

She opened her mouth, then closed it and swallowed a little thickly. She took a deep breath. "You feeling okay?"

He didn't say anything but simply stared at her, searching for an answer with his eyes, feeling like he's boring a hole into her.

"…I just felt a little tired."

"Oh," she said after a while. She slid her hand up to her upper right arm, where the shadow had almost grazed before being rebounded by Akihiko's fist. "I suppose… Well… It had been a rather tense night last night."

He nodded curtly, and then his brow contorted with worry. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

"No," she said quickly, brushing against her sleeve impatiently. "I'm not; I wasn't injured that night, so, no. But…" she flicked her eyes at him slyly, a smile lightly placed on her lips.

"But?" he urged.

She gave a low chuckle, further puzzling him. "You were quite a sight then." She could feel a faint blush forming when his brow knitted together in an incredulous look, and her smile grew.

"How should I put it?" she began. "You had a very intense look on your face when you saved me. It was almost frightening."

"Was it?" There was a smile in his voice as well.

"It was. To me…" her voice trailed off, finding herself reluctant to finish her thought. Her smile fell and a stiffness grew upon her visage that somber her.

"What's wrong, Mitsuru?"

His soft voice cajoled her to fidget her arms and shift her weight to her other foot. She swallowed a little thickly and gave a silent sigh.

"To me, silly as it might sound, you looked like you were… wearing your heart on your sleeve," she said a little lamely.

A thick silence grew between them, and a thick heat grew on her cheeks as Mitsuru looked away from Akihiko.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Huh?" she uttered a little too quickly.

"I mean, I don't know what that means."

She gave him an indignant glare and declared, "I meant that you looked very emotional last night." Akihiko became slightly taken aback by her small outburst, prompting her to look around wildly to see if anyone else had noticed. Thankfully, there were few people converged in the square. Needless to say, it was very embarrassing.

"O-Oh, I got it," stammered Akihiko, looking away in embarrassment. She doesn't particularly enjoy the fact that he could easily shame her right after she berates him in an unacceptable manner.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Excuse me. I shouldn't have yelled like that."

"That's all right. You weren't very loud. It's actually kind of funny now."

"Only for your expense," she muttered, mollified. "But really, I do worry about you."

"Why?"

"I have this ominous feeling that…" she started softly, but stopped, feeling oddly discouraged. No, that's not quite it. More like afraid that there will be truth in her words.

"What's wrong, Mitsuru?" She looked up into his eyes and saw how softly he beseeched her. Not like the rolling of thunder from the aftermath of a battle when he gave her a once over. Not like when they flashed in fury when reared his fist back. And certainly not like the dullness of waves crashing against the rocks in the bay under a cloudy day, just like it had been but a few minutes before on this bench. His eyes spurred her on.

"I have this feeling that," she paused, swallowing uncertainly. "Well, I felt that lately you've been trying too hard and it worries me in a way."

He gave her an almost incredulous look before he broke into a bemused grin. "What, is that all?"

She felt affronted. "What do you mean by that," she almost snapped.

He gave a small shrug. "I mean, aha…" he gave a short laugh. "You know me, Mitsuru! I always try my best. That's how I live, you know." He urged on, trying to lighten her stony expression. "And it's kind of funny, in a way, that you of all people would say that."

"Why? I'll have you know that it's not the first time I've said this to you. And you never listened to me every time."

"Actually, you keep telling me that it's not a game, and you're right; it wasn't a game from the very start of it," he retorted evenly. He relaxed his tone as he continued. "I meant that it's funny that you're telling me that I'm trying too hard when you've been doing that, too. And you should know, I worry about you when you do that, but I don't say anything because, heh, I've known you for too long."

Mitsuru wrapped her arm across herself to clutch at her elbow, looking away slightly abashed. She nodded, both to herself and to him, remembering. "But I feel that there's a difference with you now," she murmured, loud enough only for him to hear. "I'll try to explain it as best as I can, but I should say that I know that it scares me."

"Akihiko," she started again. "Are you sure that there isn't anything wrong at all? I'm always amazed at how easily you can pick yourself up, even after so many things. The coming of Nyx; Ikutsuki's betrayal; Shinjiro's death…" She took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling her eyes prick with the threat of tears. She blinked hastily.

"I think that… I'm afraid that you might break soon and I wouldn't- I could- I _don't_ think I'd know what to do if that were to happen to you."

He stared at her silently, contemplating, actually taking her seriously. He inhaled deeply through his nose and she watched his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed.

"And what," he asked huskily, "What made you think that I would break?" It didn't sound accusatory, so she didn't hesitate when she replied.

"Last night, when you saved me from that Shadow… I can tell, from your eyes, that you seemed desperate. You scared me, then."

He stared deeply into her eyes, trying to find the truth in them, then looked away, considering. To her silent horror, she watched his expression break; the cool façade he held receded into raw emotion, and it was almost painful to look.

She started a little when he reached up with an ungloved hand and took hers. He rested his elbows on his knees, his left holding her hand while his right dangled down listless, and he bent over so that he showed the back of his head to her. He held her hand loosely, giving her the chance to let go if she so desired, but she didn't want to, feeling that a moment has appeared that she shouldn't break.

He sighed heavily, shaking her hand slightly as though weighing it for good measure. His heavy breathing made her wonder if he was trying to hold back tears. Or maybe it was her sentimental side thinking like that. Mitsuru looked at her surroundings in askance, wondering a bit vainly whether there was anybody watching them, but found that most of the evening rush had already dissipated and that the Port Island Station square was rather empty. She looked down at Akihiko, who was breathing calmly now, and an unidentifiable emotion welled up within her. It heated up her cheeks like a fever and she had a feeling that the young man in front of her looked painfully vulnerable and isolated. She almost wanted to hold him, or something akin to that feeling of protection.

"That time," he rasped, startling her. "When it went for you, I didn't think of anything; just wanted to smash it to pieces, break it apart. You were scared? Well, I know I was scared shitless. Didn't really know why, then, but… I just know, that if I don't keep moving, if I don't keep fighting or training or, or maybe running, then something's goin' to catch up to me and then I'll jus' stop. That I'll be… be run into th' ground."

He slurred part of his words then, as though they were difficult to form in his mouth, and they probably were; she had never heard him express such fear into his words.

"An' you know? I just know that if- if you're gone, then I really will be," he swallowed thickly, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. His flesh felt warm to the touch. "I don't know how else to say this, but I know that I'll be all alone if that were to happen."

His words pierced her to the marrow, resonating with something within her that, for quite a while, had been in the background of her mind but there were no words to it that would describe it. She began to feel her eyes prick again and she began to breathe a bit more heavily. She moved her hand so that she held part of his forehead and temple.

"You know, it's funny that you mentioned it," she began, swallowing a bit, knowing that she was forcing herself to speak evenly and calmly. "But I know exactly how you feel. And I'll have you know that…" she stopped suddenly, feeling herself overcome with a blush and feeling embarrassed. She started to withdraw her hand, wanting to draw in herself and keep an air of impassiveness.

Before she can do that, however, Akihiko reached out to stop her hand, taking it back in his and looking at her expectantly. She had half a mind to snatch her hand back, but he trapped her with his gaze and it was a challenging one, daring her to say what was on her mind. It was a purely Akihiko-kind of expression, one which would occasionally annoy her but would also made her wonder at the kinds of emotion that he was able to reveal to that most people she knew would never show.

"You'll have me know what?" he repeated.

"That what you said before…"

"…Yeah?"

She swallowed. "It reminded me of what I had thought before… Back when…"

"When?"

"I don't quite know. Maybe my father was murdered and Ikutsuki went to his doom. Or when Shinjiro was lost. It wasn't a new one. I probably thought about it ever since you came into my life."

"And it was what I said before."

"Yes." She shifted uncomfortably, feeling at a loss from his lack of reaction. He released her hand and leaned back into the bench, looking thoughtful and distant. She retracted her hand back to herself, her flesh remembering, in its absence, his rougher, callused fingers and palm.

"Then," he began, just as the wind picked up a little. A warm breeze for the unusually warm January day which did nothing to calm her reddened cheeks. He continued when the air became still again and he could talk in a voice for her ears only.

"I guess we're on the same page, then."

* * *

Mitsuru realized with growing irritation that her reverie in her memories have caused her to read the same line in the same paragraph in the same page over and over again. She scowled as she braced her mind to concentrate on the content once more, but the remains of the day was pervasive and the significance it entailed had possessed her thoughts more than she would have admitted to. She leaned back and reclined against her chair in a huff, her literature-assigned book dangling over one armrest in her hand.

"Are you done with the chapter yet?"

She looked across the work-laden table to her couch where Akihiko lay sprawled on the cushions, pressing his book against his chest as he looked up at her.

"No," she sighed. "I'm stuck on the same page. Can't concentrate."

He looked at her incredulously before giving a low whistle. "You're not yourself nowadays, Mitsuru. If you can't read _The Idiot_ and give me a summary about it, then what's the point in coming here for help?"

She narrowed her eyes at him disdainfully. "I would think that you would associate with this book better than I would anyway."

She wanted to burst out a fit of delighted giggles as he actually pondered over her words. "…Just what part of the book are you comparing me with? Because there are a lot of allusions that Myshkin goes for, but I'm kind of having a hard time figuring out how it relates to _The Idiot_ title…" He trailed off into silence as growing realization dawns on him.

Mitsuru gave him a rather smug look.

"Very mature, Kirijo," grumbled Akihiko, pulling his book up defiantly and obscuring his face with it. She did, however, catch the growing sheepish smile on his face.

She returned to her book, but she found herself once more caught in reverie. Finding herself going over homework with a longtime friend and teasing him while they were at it felt very surreal and almost nostalgic. The past days were a flurry of erratic scheduling and worrying and training, and she was so caught up in them that this rare bit of normalcy felt special. The threat of Nyx was always there, in the eyes of the Lost in Paulownia Mall or in the graffiti on the ground or in the tautness of housewives as they look nervously around them.

Even though she hadn't really said it earlier in the day, she really wanted to tell Akihiko to slow down even though he had every justification for his haste.

And despite knowing they all must reach the remaining recesses of Tartarus, whose halls they ran through now as pale and sanctimonious as a cathedral, she was secretly glad that Arisato decided to let this night be their day of rest.

For this moment, at this time and she can even admit that with this person before her in her couch, she felt that there was a tangible future awaiting them; one that goes beyond February 1st. That there will be more days to worry about homework and to tease with longtime friends. There will be more days to enjoy a spring day in the middle of winter and there will be more insightful meetings in a school with interesting people.

And she hoped, quite simply and to her surprise quite dearly, she wished to have more days when she will be caught speechless and kept a barrage of other words in check because of a certain young man whom she cannot even comprehend living without his existence.

Even if there will be words that must be said, which are also painfully obvious.


End file.
